


Better Than The Worst

by staringatstars



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Former Dark Side Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Nightmares, Post-Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: Virgil hadn't meant to lie to Thomas. He'd even dared to hope that when the truth finally came out, Thomas would still accept him.He should've known never to expect better than the worst.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on tumblr: https://fortune-sides.tumblr.com/post/185843599132/intrusive-thoughts-spoilers

Something was wrong. 

It wasn’t easy to put a finger on what exactly was causing the uneasiness, not without Virgil to point it out, but the moment Roman had thought it was the moment he realized what the problem was - Anxiety hadn’t been summoned. 

Thomas spoke to the three of them as he always did, catching them up on his life and his troubles, setting up the issue that they would invariably solve through a series of antics and hijinks, yet he was distracted, only half-paying attention when Logan asked if he’d been getting any sleep. 

Patton was the first to ask where Virgil was. Each of them felt the spike of fear from Thomas, saw the way his eyes flicked fretfully to the empty space on the staircase even as he attempted to laugh off their concerns. “I’m just trying to give him a break, you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a stressful couple of videos. I just figured he could use a break.” 

He should have known better than to try to lie to them. This wasn’t like when Virgil had ducked out of the mindscape. Back then, Roman hadn’t understood how important Virgil was, how he spurred Thomas on when he was at threat of procrastinating or losing focus, how he reminded Thomas how important his friends were and protected him from harm. There would be no pondering aloud if they were better off without Anxiety this time, not when Roman had been thoroughly disabused of notion, not when he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Virgil belonged with them, that his contributions made them _better._

When Virgil inevitably appeared, popping in at the mention of him the way he once did when he was still an outcast, his back was hunched, his head down. With tentative hope, he glanced at Thomas, who recoiled, rocking on his heels. It wasn’t a dramatic gesture - he didn’t stumble or falter or stutter - but an act of avoidance, one that Virgil picked up on immediately. A rueful smile curved his lips, tinged with resignation, “Looks like I’m not wanted here.” 

“That’s not true,” Patton blurted, horrified by the thought. 

His bangs falling over his eyes, Virgil laughed with a razor-thin edge. “You know what, Patton? It’s honestly fine. I expected about as much. It's kind of what I do.” Immediately, Logan demanded to know what was going on. Interestingly enough, Roman had the distinct impression that Logic and Morality had a firmer grasp on the situation than he did. 

As Roman watched, the color leeched out of Virgil’s hoodie and shirt, returning to its former gray state. His skin paled, the shadows around his eyes smudging and smearing.

Swallowing down a sudden lump lodged in his throat, he thought, _That’s probably not good sign._

Patton didn’t seem to have noticed the changes yet. He was too busy appealing to Thomas, “Do you remember what Logan said about not everything being black and white, kiddo? Well, Virgil isn’t-”

“Look,” Thomas interrupted, his jaw tightening with frustration, “I’m just saying I didn’t have this many Dark Sides making guest appearances before Virgil became a part of the group.” 

Patton gasped. Logan looked taken aback by the statement. And Virgil?

He flinched, his whole body shrinking in on itself and shifting away. 

Outraged on his behalf, Roman puffed out his royal chest, throwing out an accusatory finger, “Pump the brakes, Thomas!” When Thomas opened his mouth, he warned, “You pump those brakes.”

There was no telling if it had worked or not until Thomas bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve just been thinking about what you said since you said it and I don’t know why you didn’t tell me sooner, or why you waited _this_ long.” He ran a hand through his hair, yanking when his fingers became entangled in a stubborn knot. “I guess Deceit and Remus have got me a little on edge.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “And you think I have something to do with it? With them?”

Thomas frowned. “That’s... not what I was going to say.”

But it was too late. Virgil was already shuttering, closing off and sealing with a sneer, “Sounds like you’re getting a little paranoid, Sanders.” Roman wanted to stop him. They all did. Hearing him spit Thomas’ last name like it tasted rotten in his mouth was bringing back memories he’d prefer to leave buried. “But, is it paranoia if they’re really out to get you?” Like a proper villain, Virgil allowed his sneer to stretch, splitting his cheeks with it, letting it spread everywhere except to his eyes. “Because you know something? I did run you down. Keeping you up at night, making you doubt yourself, and all so that the Others can have their seat at the table.” 

“Anxiety,” Roman exclaimed, falling back on old habits at the worst possible time, “that is quite enough!” 

It didn’t matter in the end, though. Virgil continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard him, “This whole time I’ve been acting like an idiot. Trying to be something I’m not.” He stared through his fringe at the familiar dark pattern on his sleeves with an odd twist at the corner of his mouth. “Trying to have something I can’t have.” He blinked several times, then clenched his fists, bringing his arms closer to his chest. “It wasn’t Remus or Deceit keeping Thomas awake.” And when he lifted his head, he looked so utterly miserable that Patton made a sound of distress at the sight, his own arms reaching as though he would give up a thousand cat sweaters just to wrap his arms around him. “It was me. I’m a sickness.” Logan’s brow furrowed. “And I’m sorry I let you all think otherwise.” 

Sighing, Logan adjusted his glasses. “We’ve spoken about this. You’re jumping to conclusions. I suggest you take a deep breath and-”

“I never should have joined up with you guys, but don’t worry,” Virgil cut in bitterly. “I won’t be making that mistake again.” 

As he began to sink down, Logan reached for him, “Don’t!” When Virgil paused to look at him, a hint of anticipation in his expression, as though he too hoped that there was something Logan, who could scare off the Others with words and logic, could think of to convince him to stay, Logan’s mouth moved but uttered no sound. After several false starts, he settled with a quiet, earnest, “Everything is going to be okay.”

Virgil visibly wavered, then after hesitating for a moment longer, replied whisper-soft with a small, sad smile, “Falsehood,” and sunk out.


	2. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By somewhat popular demand, here's one more chapter.

The effect was immediate. 

It ran through the mindscape, a sudden drought of feedback. Virgil secluded himself in his room, dreading and anticipating and hoping for a knock on his door, the sound of someone - anyone trying to reach him.

He wanted to be left alone. 

_Don’t leave him alone._

What did it matter if Thomas didn’t want him around? What else was new, really? Virgil had been the villain before, so surely he could do it again. “Like riding a bike,” he muttered darkly, crossing the room in jerky strides. He yanked open the closet, revealing more gray jackets and sweaters. They were drained of color, even the ugly (he’d _liked_ it) sweater that Patton had manifested for him last Christmas. 

With a cry of rage that contorted his features into something feral, he grabbed the closest jacket, ripped from it from the hanger and hurled it across the room. It made him feel a little better when he was done. Something loosened in his chest. A strangled sound escaped him and he grabbed another - 

“Destroying the evidence isn’t going to help you, Anxiety.” Virgil turned slowly, already aware of what he was going to see. Deceit looked as smug as ever, like the cat that caught the canary and gobbled it up with gusto. This was the happiest Virgil had seen him since he’d switched teams, and the thought filled him with ice-cold dread. 

He let the jacket fall limply from his hands, “What do you want, Deceit?”

The smirk Deceit wore stretched into a genuine, if not very nice, smile. “Well, you can’t stay cooped up in here sulking forever. You have a job to do.”

“I’m tired.” Virgil winced, hating how pathetic it sounded to his own ears. He jabbed a thumb up, in the general direction of where Thomas summoned them for his videos. “There’s a vacant spot up there if you want it. ”

Deceit hissed. “I’ve never wanted your spot.”

A bitter chuckle slipping out, dark and sad, Virgil cast him a skeptical, sidelong glance. “Liar.” His gaze fell, settling on the floor as his fists clenched and unclenched convulsively. In a small voice, he muttered, “Do you hate me?” 

“Yes,” Deceit blurted without hesitation. His eyes went wide with realization, followed on its heels by horror. “ _No._ I - Where is this coming from?”

“Thomas hates me now, I think. I told him what I was. What I still am, I guess. Just like you and Remus wanted.” There’s a noise, strangled and helpless. “He’s scared of me.”

“That's not what I wanted.” 

“What did you want?” Virgil asked, honestly curious. 

Deceit didn’t answer immediately. He fidgeted with his gloves, his slit-yellow eyes darting as though looking for an escape, but if he’d wanted an escape, he was in the wrong room for it. Finally, he managed a quiet, “To be listened to.” Virgil barked a laugh, startling Deceit with its sharp-edged cruelness. 

“That’s not it. You’re convinced that your way’s the right way - that the only thing that’s going to make Thomas happy is becoming some kind of society-defying anarchist. You don’t listen to anyone, definitely not Logan or Patton, so why should they listen to you?”

“And Morality does? Logic? Creativity? You’re one of them now and they still ignore you.”

“They’ve gotten better,” Virgil hurried to say. “They’re working on it.”

“Because they were given the chance. You all were.” 

“Given? I earned my chance! I stopped trying to scare them all the time. I was even willing to duck out if it meant Thomas could be happy-”

“And look at how well that’s worked out for you.” 

Bristling, Virgil opened his mouth as though he were going to shout something cutting, something sharpened to rip and tear and shatter, but deflated, the flight melting out of him, “Leave me alone, will you? I need time to think.” 

“Virgil,” Deceit tried, reaching out in a doomed gesture of what might have been comfort, but the other Side wasn’t listening. He’d pulled his gray hoodie over his head, hunching his shoulders forward like he could shrink inward, and shrink and shrink until everything that made him collapsed in on itself and vanished. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Anxiety’s mouth split with a snarl, and the room responded in kind, growing dimmer, smaller, more hostile. “I said, **_Get. Out._** ”

The next time Virgil felt the pull of a summoning, he tried to ignore it. This was extraordinarily difficult to do when you were caught off-guard, but Virgil had been ready for it. If he focused, he could sense Logan, Patton, and Roman calling him, but not Thomas. Never him. 

It was only a matter of time before he changed them, before they distrusted him and suspected him just as much as Thomas, and then he’d be right back where he started. 

It was better just to get it over with. Skip the drama and cut right to the inevitable, unenviable conclusion. 

He found Deceit and Remus lounging in the common space used by the aspects of himself Thomas liked to pretend didn’t exist. There was a couch, a television, a fridge that wasn’t plugged in because Remus didn’t know a fridge needed electricity to function, and thus it functioned fine without it. Speaking of the darker side of Creativity, he was hanging upside-down on the couch, sprawled over it like a ratty blanket while Deceit flipped through the channels with a bored expression. “Personally, I don’t care if Thomas wants to listen to me or not.” They both started at the sudden declaration from the shadows. Virgil stepped out, a strange gleam in his eyes. “I just don’t want to be controlled anymore.”

Remus leapt up with a manic grin, nearly toppling off the couch before Deceit wordlessly caught him by the tail-end of his sash with a strangely tight expression. Virgil would have thought he’d be more enthused about the whole affair, but Remus made up for it with sheer bombastic glee, “That sounds a lot like the band’s getting back together. Butts!”

Anxiety didn’t attend meetings, anymore. He avoided the others, popping in and out of places only when he knew they were empty. It gave him plenty of freedom to plague Thomas with nightmares of missing deadlines, of letting down his family and friends. That alone probably would have been enough. A reminder to stay focused. Motivated.

But Anxiety, whatever he may have told himself, was angry. He’d been blamed, cast out, and something told him that if he tried to talk to Thomas, he’d only end up banished again. Silenced. So he made full use of his influence to make Thomas worry and fret about his problems, filling his mind and body with paralyzing fear. The kind that prevents you from coming up with plans and strategies, that acts like a plague, spreading and consuming. 

Remus seized the chance to shout and scream and shriek intrusive thoughts, burning them into Thomas’ brain until he couldn’t get behind the wheel of a car without thinking of how great it would be to drive it into a ravine. Between the two of them, Thomas couldn’t get a moment’s rest. His focus was waning, his body hitting its breaking point.

It was thrilling to exert so much power at once. 

Years and years of checking himself, of trying to be good and helpful and nice, of constantly wondering if he was going too far or pushing too hard were finally at an end. It was the emptiest version of joy he’d ever felt, a lightning strike bouncing around the hollows of his heart. Virgil hardly ever removed his hoodie now. He drifted silently through the mindscape with the presence of a shadow, features pale and wan in semblance of exhaustion and sickness. 

Deceit confronted him in a nightmare, finding him among the clouds of a storm, “You’re overdoing it, Anxiety.” He raised his voice to be heard over the thunder, cursing the bangs and hood that shielded the other Side’s expression from him. “Thomas can’t function if he’s so worried about existing he can barely form a coherent thought.” 

“What’s the real problem here? Is it because he’s not lying, anymore? It’s not my fault he’s honest. Or maybe you’re just not as convincing as you think.”

“You’re making him miserable. You’re acting like a…” He trailed off. 

“Obviously,” Anxiety sneered, responding to the unfinished accusation with an airy wave of his hand. “I’m not really good or bad, though. That’s what nobody seems to get." There was a brief, thoughtful hesitance. "You know, there’s still a spot open up there if you want it.”

“You’re joking, right? Look at me.” Deceit gestured to yellow-green scales. “I’m a two-faced snake who speaks in lies. How could I possibly be anything else?”

Anxiety shrugged. “I managed, didn’t I?”

“Besides," Deceit continued without pause, "Thomas ignores us so it’s hardly our fault if we shout to be heard.” 

“I know you really believe that,” Anxiety glanced upwards, watching streaks of jagged white lightning cut the sky with a considering gaze. He did that now. Often drifting off in the middle of a conversation before resuming his train of thought with a shrug and an apologetic half-smile. “Well, take it or leave it, because unless another Side appears, that spot’s going to be empty for a long time. Also, I think Remus has been eyeing it and it’s making me nervous. If it has to be someone, I’d rather it be you.” 

“Too much exposure to that kind of influence would probably break him,” Deceit agreed. “Thomas doesn’t need a villain in his circle.” At this point, he didn’t know if he was referring to himself or Remus, only that he wasn’t thinking of Anxiety and yet it was him who flinched.

“Maybe not,” Anxiety shook his head, “but all the best stories have one. You should talk to Creativity about it, sometime. I’m sure he’d agree.” Dark clouds rolled in, obscuring him from sight. His voice seemed to come from a distance that stretched, growing further and further with each word, and the rain turned cold and hard, slamming into Deceit with the sting of ice and hail. 

“Virgil!” The storm raged, drowning out his panicked shout. “I _don’t_ care about you!” It felt like he was being thrown by a gale in an uncontrollable spiral, buffeted and battered by the winds of something he couldn’t see or fight. At this rate, the nightmare was going to consume him. At this rate, he was going to fall. 

The stormed laughed with Anxiety’s voice, flat and dead and echoing. “Feeling anxious, Deceit?” He opened his mouth to speak, but the winds whipped his words away. “Let me help you with that.” A lightning strike so bright it blinded tore the sky in half with the sound of a snap, and then the storm was gone, leaving only blue skies, calm seas, and a deceitful snake that had never felt more low.

People lie when they’re afraid. 

Anxiety believed this why Deceit had lied about caring. Because he was afraid. 

Because Anxiety had _made_ him afraid. 

And then there was the small, pathetic, easily ignored part of him that wanted to believe it was true. They’d been a good team, once. Above all, they’d wanted to keep Thomas safe, even if their attempts had been misguided, sometimes harmful. The world was not kind. 

Sometimes, it hurt people who were different. 

But that didn’t mean Thomas could hide from it forever. 

The same applied to Anxiety. After weeks and weeks of resisting summons, he accidentally let his guard down - otherwise known as Remy tricked him into sleeping - and a familiar pull yanked him from his room, depositing him on the stairs in an ungainly heap. 

The rushed apologies started before he managed to get his bearings, assaulting his ears and mind while he blinked dumbly at the brightness of electric lights and the sunlight streaming in through the window. They overlapped, emotional and poetic and rational. Slowly, they even started making sense to Anxiety, who by now knew where he was and why. It enraged him. 

“How dare you?” He encroached on Thomas, scowling. “You think you can just cast me out and then summon back whenever you please? That’s not how this works.” Remus had touched Thomas, had hurt him. Anxiety was pretty sure that if he put some effort into it, he could do the same. 

He wanted to. 

When Thomas flinched, Anxiety reared back, his features twisting and contorting with pain and rage and hurt. But his hands didn’t move from his side. 

“This isn’t you,” Thomas said quietly. “This is my fault.” Strike that. Anxiety was seriously considering decking him. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. It doesn’t matter what you were in the past. You’ve changed.” They both glanced at his gray, dull jacket. The distance between them increased, a void between, because he still didn't get it. He still didn't understand that for as much as Thomas wanted things to be black and white, bad and good, life was rarely that simple.

Anxiety leaned away from him. “You know what, Thomas? You’re right. I have changed. All of us have. Logic’s learning slang and anger management,” the rational Side appeared shocked by the use of his formal name, “Morality’s becoming more flexible, and Creativity’s learning how to think with more than just his ego.” Though he frowned, Roman continued to listen without interrupting. “You’ve all made such great strides. So much progress.” Anxiety clapped his hands sarcastically. “But where does that leave me? Sure, you’ve changed for the better. Well done. Gold star. Meanwhile, I’ve changed for the worse!” There were tears brimming in his eyes, not that he’d ever let them fall. He’d sooner burst into technicolor confetti than show that kind of obvious weakness in front of -

_Aren’t you being a little paranoid?_

Laughter spilled out of him, raw and choked and joyless. His voice cracked, and he curled in on himself, clutching his stomach as though the hurt swirling inside would tear him to pieces. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Roman blurted, “But you haven’t!” Anxiety’s head snapped up to fix him with a disbelieving stare. “You’re scared and upset and it’s making Thomas scared and upset but that’s not who you are. It’s how you’re feeling. Feelings change all the time, Virgil. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a part of us, anymore.” Addressing Thomas, he tried to sound at once firm and beseeching, “He’ll always be welcome here, won’t he?”

After glancing at each of his Sides, Thomas nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain before. I’m working on it. And I hope you’ll join us for the next video if… if that’s what you want.” As he spoke, the shades of Virgil’s jacket became more vibrant, some of them shifting to violets and lavenders and white stitching that weaved in and out of patches. 

For the first time in a while, Virgil let his hood fall, swept bangs out of his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll think about it.” He glanced at Logan, “Seems like things might be okay, after all. Eventually,” then hissed out an uneven breath and sank. 

“Maybe one day you and I could convince Thomas to imagine a bigger apartment,” Virgil casually suggested after finding Deceit waiting in his room to see how he was holding up. It was a special brand of thought, the kind that took root and grew. “Something with enough space for everybody.” 

Smirking, Deceit scoffed, “That sounds like an _awful_ idea."


End file.
